


Ruta graveolens

by aluinihi



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt/Comfort, Language of Flowers, M/M, More tags in the future, Post-Canon, References to Illness, Self-Hatred, Symbolism, very sad roy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-01 17:48:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16289045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aluinihi/pseuds/aluinihi
Summary: Roy Mustang wishes God would stop laughing at him. He doesn’t get it. There are millions, billions of people he could have fallen for; people whose love wouldn’t be a parasite ready to consume Roy’s insides with its roots. He is thirty now, and being a tragicomic joke is exhausting.He pulls his knees against his chest and coughs for a good half-hour.





	1. Endurance

**Author's Note:**

> Hello :D English is not my native language, so please warn me of mistakes!
> 
> Hope you enjoy the reading.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

Riza lowers her eyes to a stack of papers she had been clipping together, and the act almost doesn’t feel dissimulative. Roy knows it was though, he has seen it too often no to; ever since she found him hunched over the toilet coughing minuscule pieces of petals. It puts him more on edge than the sickness itself, to be an object of observation and cautiousness. To be under a hawk’s gaze that feels more like a vulture’s.

“I don’t understand what you mean, sir.”

Roy wants to roll his eyes like a stubborn teenager, but instead he just lets the pen fall from his fingers as he signs the last document of the day. Hawkeye stayed behind with him even though they should have left hours ago, patiently organizing what Roy could swear was already organized. There’s this nagging headache that makes him dizzy and nauseous, and the bitter taste of the plant-parasite inside of him isn’t helping the slightest bit.

“I believe it’s all done for today, lieutenant-colonel.”

She gives a curt nod. Roy reaches for their overcoats and she grabs the office keys. The amount of pain Roy feels makes the walk to the car feel endless and his lungs are too weak for so many staircases. He likes to think he can hide it fairly well, but Hawkeye’s side glances tell another story.

She drives; he’s dead weight at this point, and besides, he sucks at driving. His throat itches and his temples burn, Roy just wants to pull his knees against his chest and cough for a good half-hour. It is tempting, as Riza wouldn't judge him any more than she already does, but he would never. In front of her, he silences – just like he used to do with Maes. He has endured the pain for years now, so he will endure the ten-minute ride home.

Hawkeye stops the closest to his doorway possible and Roy knows he should thank her even though he won’t.

As he leaves the car, the cough wrecks him in a way that makes him stagger.

“Sir?” Riza’s voice sounds distant yet grounding and Roy finds support in the glass window of the vehicle. “Permission to speak freely?”

“No.”

He chokes on his own breath, the taste of blood and the cursed petals flooding his mouth.

“Roy—”

“Permission not granted, Lieutenant-colonel Hawkeye.”

Roy doesn’t look at her, but he can almost see the worried twitch of her facial muscles. And he does hear the sigh.

“Good night, sir.”

He wishes her a _good night_ in return, voice a bit hoarse and breaths uneven, and then stumbles to the doorstep fiddling with his keys. Inside the house, Roy throws his whole weight on the wooden door as he tugs his coat and tie free, gets rid of his boots and all the other unnecessarily heavy garments.

His breathing pattern is still altered when he reaches the kitchen. A glass of water should fix the burn in his trachea; and if it doesn’t, there’s always whiskey in the cabinet. Roy should have something light and warm for dinner tonight, he thinks of soup and opens the fridge to get the ingredients. He grabs the left-overs of yesterday’s Xingese dumplings and settles for eating them cold and shiny with grease.

Another fit hits him when he’s climbing the stairs. Roy holds onto the railing for dear life but he falls anyway; the pointy corner of a step stabs his left shin and if it wasn’t for an instinctively well-positioned elbow he would have hit his forehead. He lays there, spitting small yellow petals until his thorax feels bruised inside out.

Roy feels as if it has taken him hours to finally get to the bedroom. He goes straight for the window, like a kid who runs for their mother after a school day. There, standing shyly on the sill is the vase with his precious seedling. Roy had coughed it on the bathroom tiles one day, a perfectly cultivable seedling.

 _Herbology for Beginners_ had become Roy's bedside book ever since he accepted the disease. At first, he was too curious to be actually worried about his health: instead of looking for a doctor, he went to the library to try and identify the small plant that was steadily growing in his lungs. Under the scrutinizing glare of the librarian, he was given a bunch of book with basic information on plants and how to take care of them. Roy spent a whole afternoon trying to classify his parasite until he finally found it in the large green book. He doesn’t water the plant; instead, he goes straight to bed to skim through the old pages.

He’d stuck a post-it on the chapter. He runs his fingers over the curvy writing that was printed on the upper center of the page like a pompous title:

 

_Ruta graveolens_

 

Rue is not known for beauty; and due to its strong smell, is not considered a good piece for a bouquet. It is sometimes used as a spice, sometimes as a medicinal herb to treat many kinds of diseases, but it is by no means aesthetic. No, rue is essentially a useful plant and definitely not the kind that would appear on someone's chest as a sign of perpetual love. That's what the specialists say.

However, rue is known for its ability to grow on dry soil. It grows despite the hardships, so of course, the seedling on the windowsill would keep growing, just like those in Roy's lungs. It gives small, charming flowers: the ones he throws up every morning in the toilet. The resilience reminds Roy of _him_ and he throws the book away as his body convulses in another coughing fit.

Roy Mustang wishes God would stop laughing at him. He doesn’t get it. There are millions, billions of people he could have fallen for; people whose love wouldn’t be a _parasite_ ready to consume Roy’s insides with its roots. He is thirty now, and being a tragicomic joke is exhausting.

He pulls his knees against his chest and coughs for a good half-hour.


	2. Patience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! English is not my native language, so please warn me of mistakes!
> 
> Hope you enjoy it :D

Roy dreamt of red flames and yellow petals. Sometimes, these two colors would blur and blend to a golden shade.

He smiles when he wakes up. It's a rare occurrence, especially for a soldier, but in slumber, he felt soft touches and heard easy laughs. Roy shoves his head against the pillow and pulls the blanket over his eyes; for the split of a second, he could swear the linens smell like _him_.

Routine kills the mood though. He has to get out of bed, to shower, to shave, to get dressed. His breathing is making this unsettling wheeze-like noise and he spits two small petals as he brushes his teeth. Roy looks in the mirror and, even if his appearance is as presentable as ever, it still feels like watching a man walking to his own death bed.

Roy checks his pocket watch to calculate exactly how long he has before Jean Havoc shows up. With thirty minutes left, he considers eating so as to not have to deal with headquarters coffee on an empty stomach. He grabs the small plant that rests on the windowsill and heads to the kitchen.

He sets the vase on the counter. Maybe he can actually use it as a spice. A soft laugh escapes his lips at the childish thought of serving food covered with spat leaves.

Midway through frying the eggs, the cough hits him.

Roy barely has time to reach the sink as the bitter taste of blood and rue fill his mouth. This is not normal, he’s never had a fit this early in the morning. And it's a wrecking one; makes him shake and shiver, the bile burns his palate and Roy is utterly repulsed.

He wants to turn the stove off. He wants to sit down and eat his toast and then get to work. He wants to go back to normal, to the same body he had four years ago.

The doorbell rings and a male voice calls:

”Sir?”

Roy turns the tap on, a vain attempt to.hide the signs of the sickness. He drinks water directly from it, cupping his hands and taking them to his lips. After a few gulps, he’s calm enough to stay up without having to lean his whole body against the counter.

The steps to the door feel like a walk through the desert: his throat is dry and he's covered in sweat. As so as he unlocks it, Jean Havoc is on him:

”Chief? You alright? I heard all this—”

Roy takes a shaky breath.

”I’m good, Major.” He steps aside and gestures for the man to follow him inside. ”I was just making breakfast.”

Jean Havoc accompanies him to the kitchen and Roy promptly insists for him to take a seat. There’s rue sticking to his teeth.

The urge comes before he is able to turn the stove off. His throat contracts and he is running for the bathroom. His knees hurt when he falls in front of the toilet and a whole stack of small yellow flowers burns its way through his trachea. Roy just stays there, stuck between coughing and retching, and it feels like _dying_. And Roy knows a lot about dying.

Jean Havoc then makes his – very unwanted – appearance. The Major doesn't utter a single word and Roy is so, so grateful for it. Instead, he kneels by his commanding officer's side; one hand on his shoulder, the other gently supporting the man’s forehead.

And it feels like _fucking dying_.

  
  


”Since when...?”

”It’s a recent thing.”

”Are you sure? It didn't seem like it.”

”Yes, I am, very.”

”...”

”...”

”Sir, I know a guy who—”

”That’s good for you, Major.”

  
  


On the ride to headquarters, Roy makes Havoc promise not to tell Riza. An hour after lunch, he finds out he has no trustworthy subordinates.

Hawkeye is _preying_ on him. He knows she is and she probably knows that he knows and that’s why she makes no effort in hiding her intentions: putting Roy on edge so she can strike when he’s most vulnerable. Roy leaves the door to the inner office open so he can keep an eye on her, for the time being. He expects it, and it makes the whole thing feel like waiting on a death row. As his fellow soldiers leave for their respective homes, Roy’s mental countdown gets lower and lower.

She is the last one beside Roy and she barely gives him time to come up with proper excuses. As soon as he stands up, she’s already on the door, holding the keys and reaching for their coats. They leave the grey building and Roy tugs at his lapels to adjust them. It’s too cold for autumn, and his lips feel so dry they might crack. His throat is still irritated from the morning’s coughing fit, and itch only makes him want to cough more.

“Should I drive today, sir?”

Being enclosed in a metal box with the only one in the world who scares him enough to not fight back and even give her the full control over speed and direction?

“Sure.”

They get inside and she locks the doors. There is no sound of an engine being turned on.

“We need to talk, Roy.”

Riza says that in her _this-is-final_ tone, he one that does not allow protests. She rarely calls him by his first name, and for some reason, it seems much more solemn than sir. He nods.

“It’s getting worse.” Roy opens his mouth but she doesn’t miss a beat. “Don’t try and make it less worrying, you know it is.”

“It was time already, all things considered.”

“Roy, this is _serious_.” She looks him dead in the eyes, lips curled slightly downwards and brows furrowed. “You know the numbers and it’s been _four years_. I’m really sorry, but you need to make a move.”

Roy is reminded of golden eyes and a body that dances whilst fighting. His breath comes out in a short puff, as if he’d been punched. He can’t do this. He can’t rip this feeling out, he would never dare to. It would feel like giving up the last scraps of humanity left on his soul, like burning a hole through his chest, and brain, and _heart_. Roy _belongs_ to love, just like fish belong to water and birds belong to the sky.

“You want me to get surgery.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“...”

“...”

“I can’t do that either.”

She doesn’t protest; just turns the car on and drives. Roy wants her to though, he really does. He wishes she would look at him with that _you-are-being-so-stupid_ look, or scold him into obedience. She wants her to tell him that he would understand, and he would do _his best_ to help Roy. But they’ve had this conversation before, and Roy had been very emphatic with his objections. It wasn’t that he was afraid of judgement. _He_ would never do such thing to Roy, would never laugh at the man’s face or call him degenerated names. No, _he_ was a good, decent person – and Roy is genuinely afraid _he_ is _too good_ and _too decent_ to just reject him like it ought happen.

Riza keeps giving him sympathetic sideway glances and it would be annoying if it wasn’t so unnerving.

“If all you wanted to do was to feel sorry about me, Riza, I could have walked home alone and felt a lot of it for myself.”

Roy can tell that she would be rolling her eyes if she wasn’t so keen on keeping her composure.

“I’m not feeling sorry for you.”

The lack of complacency in her speech almost makes Roy believe her.

“Yes, you are, that’s just how everyone feels towards people with terminal illn—“

“It is not terminal.”

“In my case, it is.”

“That’s where you are mistaken.”

Roy stares at her, cautious and bordering anxiety.

“What do you mean with that?”

There’s a period of silence, and Roy starts to believe she won’t answer at all. It takes long enough for him to come up with the most unsettling possibilities, but too short for him to get prepared for the worst:

“I called him.”

A shiver goes down Roy’s spine and he tastes a startling mix of anger and fear. He wants to puke, he wants to puke, he _is going to puke_ —

“Stop the car.”

“Roy, listen—“

“Stop the _fucking car_ , Riza, or I swear to God...”

The machine comes to halt and Roy jumps out of it as a cat jumps out of the water. He wants to go home, he just wants to go home, he wants to go home. There are warm covers to shelter him. There is a green book to entertain him. There is a _Ruta graveolens_ he can admire. There is a bathtub he can drown in or something. He stomps to Riza’s side and knocks hard on the window until his fingers feel numb.

 _“Who gave you the right?!”_ The wrath is setting in his insides, boiling and corroding everything that resembles self-control. “I trusted you not to tell _anyone_ , and that includes him, you... you...”

“Yes?!” She’s not screaming like him, but her face is acquiring this reddish shade that announces that she wants to. “Go on, tell me, what do you think I am!”

“I trusted you, Riza! Why would you do this? What made you think you even _could_ , this is my choice to—“

“It’s his choice too, you idiot!”

A couple of people passes by and Roy takes a long, deep breath.

“Did you really make yourself believe he wouldn’t find out? Because, I’ll tell you, he will and he won’t carry on as if nothing had ever happened.” It’s not only anger she’s feeling, Roy can tell. He wants to give a name to the emotion and he can’t and that annoys him more than it should. “I know you would never want to destroy his life like this, Roy, I know, but if you keep this up you _will.”_

He wants to puke, oh god, oh god...

“I know it’s your choice, and I respect that. What I wish you would understand is that he’s got a say in this too and you need to listen. Hanahaki is not an individual disease, Roy, it affects _two people at the same time.”_

There are tears welling up in his eyes and the tight knot on his throat hurts so bad, so bad.

“Come on, get back inside. You can’t walk home like this.”

He hates that she’s right.

The rest of the drive is under an uncomfortable silence. Roy veins are still pumping anger all over his being, but there’s an edge of fear that won’t stop growing. Riza’s right, Riza’s right and he wants to scream like a bratty child because it’s so unfair.

She stops by his house. The look he’s given dares him to fix his damn mess like the good adult he’s supposed to be. The world won’t stop moving even if he uses his best rhetoric to try to convince it to stop. Roy walks to the doorway and wonders how much exactly she told him.

He hears the car leaving and there’s a figure sitting on the front steps, legs stretched forward and shoulders slumped. He stands up when Roy approaches. The lack of tight leather pants is the first thing Roy notices. The young man has grown a bit, though he still can’t be considered tall or stand face to face to Roy. The golden hair reflects the streetlights and _shines_.

Edward Elric looks him in the eyes and he’s got the most vacant expression Roy has ever seen him wear.

“We need to talk.”

A lot of people have been saying that to him recently, he should probably start to worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to have the next chapter done by the weekend. Comments are always nice, if you feel like it of course :)
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	3. Disdain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first: English is not my native language, so warn me of mistakes please!
> 
> Second things now: today is my birthday!!

Roy shoves his head under water as soon as he gets in the tub. Edward is wandering around his house and Roy can almost _feel_ him moving. There’s something unnerving settling on Roy’s stomach because _Edward Elric is in his home._

He had shown the blond to the guest room, told him to make himself comfortable and vanished to the bathroom. Roy wonders if Edward wants to talk to him tonight or if it can wait until tomorrow. He emerges from the water and takes a deep breath that feels like punishment to his irritated throat. His head is buzzing with questions: _how much does he know? does he hate me now? does he feel guilty?_

_should i feel guilty?_

He used to, of course. Even before the sickness, his feelings for Edward had always been a matter of embarrassment and self-hatred. The blond had been a teenager, a _boy_ , when it had begun, and Roy had had his fair share of neurosis over it. There are still nights when he wakes up covered in sweat, feeling awful and despising himself.

Roy read so much about _child abuse_ those first months. Edward’s body was clean of that typical teenage-baby-fat, but it was unjustifiable. It did not change the fact that he was so young and their professional relationship made the whole thing scream _ABUSIVE_. Roy went to bed feeling like the worst person possible and smirked at Ed as if the boy was nothing to him but a practical joke.

Maes Hughes had been the first one to find out. Roy had went to join his friend for a drink after sending the Elrics on a new mission — and he’d been feeling quite bubbly that day, since Edward had thrown a tantrum over their height difference and blushed like a stereotypical country-boy during the whole visit. Roy was just trying to enjoy his whiskey when the itch grew too much for him to contain the cough. He still remembers Maes face as he took a perfect formed and bloody rue in his fingers.

_He’s almost half your age, isn’t he?_

Roy had shivered from head to toe. He had done horrible things. Things that Hughes had seen, and sometimes even participated or supported. But nothing had ever made his friend _look_ at him so, so—

_—utterly disgusted._

That night, after he went home, Roy had cried, sobbed and gotten drunk enough to pass out. He woke up five times to vomit. Then Hughes died before they could actually talk about it.

Sometimes, Roy sits in the tub and thinks about how many drugs he should take to drown in the most painless way possible. He knows it makes him a coward but he still can’t bring himself to want it to _hurt_.

His whole body is tense like a violin string pulled too tight. The warm water should be helping, but it really doesn’t, and Roy wonders if he’ll even be able to sleep tonight. He feels psychologically and emotionally exhausted, yet his muscles are spasming and pulsing, ready for a fight that hopefully won’t happen. Roy tires of the surreal attempt on self-care and leaves the bath.

He had brought his change of clothes to the bathroom, mostly not to risk bumping into Edward with just a towel around his hips and embarrassing himself someway. Covering his body with more comfortable pants and a button-up shirt, Roy considers going straight to bed and forgetting about Ed until the morning. He knows he won’t be able though, so he drags himself out of the room and down the stairs to the kitchen. There’s a delicious smell coming from it and the prospect of having a home-cooked meal lures Roy in.

“You don’t have a lot of food, so I had to make do.” Announces Edward, never taking his eyes off the pan. “It’s omelet with tomato and cheese, and some other stuff I found here.”

It definitely looks better than anything Roy has had in... what, _weeks_ now?

He sits on a chair at the small kitchen table and takes a moment to absorb the whole situation. _Edward Elric_ is at _his house_ casually stir-frying them _dinner_.There’s something so awfully domestic about this, about this man in front of the stove on naked feet and loosely tied hair, and Roy can’t help but indulge in it.

Ed has grown up and, well, _thank god he has_. The last time Roy had seen him — two years ago, smiling by his brother’s side, surrounded with people who cared deeply about him and still calling him _Colonel Bastard_ — he had already turned less juvenile in both physical and mental aspects. Currently, though, there’s a firm set to his jaw and the burning passion in his eyes has softened to this warm spark. His hair is longer, his back is stronger and he holds himself in a confident posture that has nothing to do with the previous bratty arrogance.

Before, he was a well-built sight. Now, Edward is the most beautiful being Roy has ever set his eyes on.

The blond gets plates and silverware from the cabinets, as if he had been cooking at the Mustang’s residence for years now. He sets the meals on he table, sits right in front of Roy and just eats — the man half-expects Ed to start talking about his day or something. Roy takes a moment to appreciate how good-looking the food is, and the thought that _Edward Elric_ made it leaves him slightly surprised. He takes the first bite and comes to the conclusion that Ed is probably the most talented individual he’s ever met.

”It’s a spice, y’know.”

Roy answers him with a questioning _hm?_ , mouth too occupied to form proper words.

”Rue.” He says between mouthfuls. “And it used to be considered an herb that could cure all diseases.”

Roy knows that already. There’s probably no scrap of information on the plant he had not checked and analyzed and overanalyzed. “Did you read about it somewhere?”

Half of Ed’s omelet is gone by now; if there’s one thing that hasn’t changed at all is the way he _inhales_ everything that’s edible.

”Not really, no. My mom had a garden, and she planted it there. She also had this really fucked up habit of putting dried rue leaves inside of wallets.”

”It’s said to bring prosperity.”

”Yeah.”

The conversation dies at that point, and Roy wishes he could think of something else to say besides _hey, there’s the herb-equivalent of the philosopher’s stone growing in my lungs_. They finish their meals and, as Roy moves to colect their plates, Ed gives him a pointed _you-sit-down-there_ look and he stills. The blond does it himself, setting their dishes by the sink and comes back to the table. He then pulls his chair closer to Roy’s, so they can sit side by side.

_well, i guess it can’t wait until tomorrow_

”Were you ever going to tell me?”

His tone is tinged with hurt instead of anger, and Roy winces internally. _No._

”Perhaps.” Roy takes a deep breath. “Would you mind telling me exactly how much do you know?”

”Enough.”

”Enough?”

”Yeah.” He puts his right elbow on the table — and Roy takes a moment to admire the _flesh_ arm — and supports his chin on the heel of his hand. “And _would you mind_ telling me for how long this has been going own?”

Something about those golden eyes warns Roy that he already knows the answer.

”Around four years.” _Or twenty per cent of your total lifetime, if you’d prefer _.__

Edward lets out a dry snicker. “And you were _perhaps_ going to tell me. Per- _fucking_ -haps.”

Roy can’t hold his gaze any longer, so he switches to the rue seedling steadily growing on a vase over his kitchen counter.

”I need you to tell me exactly how much you know about my condition, Edward.”

 _”Fuck you.”_ His voice is dripping that spiteful-aggressiveness Roy has always been so used to. If he wasn’t in such obvious disadvantage here, Roy would have probably laughed at the blond’s temper. “How can you possibly— _what the fuck were you thinking?”_

This time, Roy winces outwardly, still unable to meet the other’s eyes. He’s not guilty, no; this feeling has another name and it’s on the tip of Roy’s tongue but he can’t bring himself to remember.

”You thought you could, what, carry on with your life and then— You thought _I_ could carry on with my life?” Ed’s voice is strained, almost as if he’s containing a scream. “How can you possibly be _dying of love for me_ if you don’t even give a shit about how I feel, you bastard?!”

_It’s impotency. That’s how it’s called when the thread that holds your life slips from your fingers and you are left there, waving your arms to try and grasp some of the control back._

”I don’t care about how _you feel_?!” Roy jumps to standing position, the chair slides to a far end of the kitchen and he slams his palm against the table. “I hid it all this time exactly because I _care too much!_ ” He stares down at Edward, who looks ready to start throwing punches. “I know you can’t stand people dying on you, I know you would do _everything_ in your power to stop it from happening! You would have dated me, indulged all my fantasies and— shit, you would have unwillingly had sex with me, wouldn’t you?” 

He doesn’t move a muscle to deny, and Roy feels like passing out.

“Do you realize how much something like that would _hurt me_? There’s a name for it, Edward, and I would rather die choking on leaves than—“

Edward cuts him before he can finish, shoves him so hard on the chest he stumbles down to the ground. The back of his head hits a cabinet and he grits his teeth to restrain a groan of pain, and then Edward is on his knees, right between the man’s legs, hands on each of Roy’s shoulders. He looks angry, oh so angry, maybe even disgusted, and Roy has never felt so small in his presence before.

”Shut up and listen now, _you shit_.”

They are so close Roy can feel the strong, uneven puffs of air that leave Ed’s mouth. Edward rests his forehead against his, and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. After a few seconds, he reopens them and Roy is paralyzed.

“I’ve had this damned crush on you ever since I’m _thirteen_.” He spits. “Just ask me, and _I’ll love you back_.”

Roy can’t move. He just sits there, arms hanging uselessly by his sides, held immobile by Edward’s gaze. The golden orbs are glassy with unshed tears, and Roy starts questioning his sanity since there’s no plausible reason Edward Elric would cry for him. _Because of him._ He is beautiful, and strong, and smart, and talented, and there’s no one on the planet Roy could possibly want more.

”I don’t believe you.”

Edward’s determined expression shatters. He falls backwards — and Roy’s entire being hurts with the lack of contact — his hands now resting limply against his own thighs. He looks broken, and Roy feels broken in ways he’s never felt before.

”...why not?” Ed whispers.

_because it’s impossible that you can feel at least half of what i feel for you_

”It’s too convenient, isn’t it? I’m dying and, as a decent human being, you don’t want me to, and your love is the only thing that could save me.” Roy explains. “How am I supposed to believe it? That you could love me, I mean.”

Edward stares at him, as if Roy had just said something undeniably stupid. He opens his mouth to speak — once, twice — and nothing comes out.

But then he throws his body over Roy’s, arms circling his neck. Edward hooks his chin over the man’s shoulder and takes a deep breath, like this is something he’d wanted to do before. Roy freezes, stricken by the completely unexpected action, and the only thing his mind absorbs is the smell of shampoo and that leather-ish scent that is so inherently Ed’s.

”You will, though.”

The words are not softly whispered like a lover’s confession, no; they are said firmly, exhaling fierce determination and conviction. Roy finally gives in to the embrace and tugs the other closer to his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> I feel like I’m finally getting the hang of non-one shot fanfictions and I was wondering... would any of you enjoy one revolving around gossip and fake dating?


	4. Disdain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> I need to apologise in advance. This is... uh... essentially a filler? I mean, nothing really happens. I’m also really sorry for the delay, I was very depressed due to political happenings.
> 
> English is not my native language... but you already know that, right? I hope you enjoy the reading!

Roy Mustang wakes up to the sun invading the room through a gap in the curtains. His head feels heavy and dizzy, but his body is so featherlight he floats. There's a certain stillness to the morning-after of a night of suffering.

He barely moves for what seems like half an hour. It's Saturday, he has no work or commitments, just the prospect of spending a day by Edward Elric’s side and for that they don’t need to leave the house. It’s only the thought of his guest that pulls him out of bed. He goes through the usual morning motions with his mind stuck on the man sharing his house.

Roy definitely wishes yesterday had not happened. His insides do something similar to combustion every time he thinks of Ed. Angry, sad, hurt and _pulled-tight-against-his-chest_ Ed. There were no tears from both parts, but that did not stop the blond from looking miserable and enlarging the guilt in Roy’s heart.

Besides, last night left him with this blurred picture of death. The prospect dying, albeit shameful and cowardly, had pleased Roy countless times throughout his life. He has grown accustomed to the _idea_ of it, both as a soldier and as a man with his own tendencies. But there was something about how Ed held him that night. Something that made that idea an unwelcome inhabitant of Roy’s subconscious.

After all, how could he cease to exist when Edward Elric could touch him that way?

It seems completely illogical.

He walks down the corridor. There’s movement downstairs and he follows the soft sounds of pages turning like a moth to the flames. He finds Edward laying casually on the couch, legs crossed over the cushions and a book in hands. He’d opened the curtains, and the sunlight makes the whole room cozy. Edward is _glowing_ ; a mellow shade of gold and tanned skin. He is not that engrossed in the reading, since his eyes lazily drift to Roy as soon as he enters the room.

Roy halts at the doorway, leaning his body against the frame. He thinks he should smile, yes, that would probably do. However, he doesn’t. They just stay there, exchanging this empty yet full to the brink gaze, silent and breathing slowly. On the outside, Roy is immobile, but his insides are twitching: his heart leaps and there’s fire running up and down his spine non-stop. It seems like hours or nanoseconds, Roy can’t tell for sure. Ed’s book hangs open over his lap, and Roy can’t even understand how he could be more interesting to the man than printed words.

”You don’t sleep, Mustang, you fucking _die_ for a couple hours.”

The spell is broken, and now Roy feels awkward as if his body is too much for himself alone.

”...what time is it?”

The book is closed with a dusty _fump_ and Edward sits up.

”It’s almost mid-day.” Ed stretches his body like a cat, back curving and eyes closed. “I thought we could get breakfast together, but now I guess we better just go find lunch.”

The prospect of leaving the house shouldn’t be that appealing just after waking up. It is though, and Ed is probably to blame.

”Well, there’s this place around two blocks away, maybe we c—“

_Itch, itch, cough._

_Cough, cough, cough._

Edward is by his side in a matter of seconds, handing him a handkerchief. The cough is wet and he almost doubles over with the strength of it, but Edward holds him steady by the upper arm. The bitter taste of rue overcomes the iron of blood, and Roy is not very kindly reminded of _It’s a spice, y’know_.

Roy ends up finding more stable support at the door frame, and Ed’s right hand now rubs soothing circles over his back. He is not brave enough to take a look at the tissue he holds, but it’s sure to be ruined by now. As the cough slowly subsides, the blond brushes a few black strands away from Roy’s eyes. He looks utterly concentrated, as if this gesture alone could fix the other’s lungs. Roy has never had anything against being the center of attention, but the way the man furrows his brows makes his body tingle, and he’s left torn between wanting the fit to end and craving the care.

”Or we could stay in.” Ed suggests, as Roy’s breath begins to normalize. “Yeah, we should probably stay in.”

He wants to protest; _no, he’s fine, let’s go _but Edward raises his hand to the corner of Roy’s lips and plucks a petal from in between them.__

____

____

At that moment, Roy realizes that this is the first time Ed has seen him coughing. It’s a nice petal, though, in a strong, healthy shade of yellow that would probably shine more if it hadn’t just been spit by a sick man. Edward holds it between his thumb and index finger, cautious as if it could break with the touch. He just stares at it, thoughtful and certainly unsure of what to with it.

”There’s a trash bin in the kitchen.” Roy offers.

Ed throws him a puzzled look.

”There’s another one in the bathroom, but for that, you would have to go upstairs and—“

”I’m supposed to just throw it away?”

His attention is back to it, golden eyes scanning over the soft yellow skin, and suddenly Roy can’t breathe all over again. Edward is— he is _marveled_ , staring at the lone petal as if it had just explained him the secrets of the Gate. Roy wants to tell him to stop because that’s a _disease_ , it’s a like a bacteria or, better yet, it’s like _pus_ and that’s disgusting and... and... No one should ever look at pus like _that_.

”That’s what I do, yes.”

Edward’s eyes go wide, and he looks up at Roy as if he had just heard a blasphemy worthy of death penalty.

”For real...? Like, you just— just throw it in the trash like it’s some...” He sounds slightly offended, and Roy wonders if he thought he’d kept all of them. “Shit, but this is...”

Ed cuts himself before he gets to finish the sentence and Roy wants to _kiss him._

 _yes yes yes but that’s only a_ scrap _of my love for you there’s much more of it inside me so it’s not even that big of a deal anymore_

Edward goes from slightly upset to downright pissed off in a matter of seconds — which is pretty impressive, as far as mood swings go. He shoves the petal against the other's chest, turning away and stomping back to the sofa.

”You do it then.”

Roy stands there, dumbfounded, holding a piece of rue on his palm. Ed has the book in hands again, but Roy would bet he’s not even reading it; or maybe he is, Roy can’t tell. It used to be fairly easy for him to understand the older Elric, however, he can’t really say that anymore.

He takes a deep breath and walks to the kitchen. There’s the trash bin, next to the sink; the one Roy hadn’t bothered to empty for days now. He holds the petal between his fingers and, not that consciously, mimics Edward. The yellow skin is rumpled, even more so after being handled over and over. Roy brings it to his nose and it smells of blood and saliva; although there’s a bitter edge to it that is without doubt rue in itself.

Roy can’t just throw it away.

How did he even do it before?

Roy takes the seedling vase on the counter and digs a small hole in the soil. He fits the petal neatly there before covering it with dust.

He takes solace on the fact that Ed won’t ever know this and goes back to the living room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this wasn’t a throughly unpleasant experience :D


	5. Grace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! The last chapter, finally!
> 
> I hope this is not a disappointing ending...
> 
> English is not my native language, so warn me of mistakes!

They do leave the house in the end. More precisely, right after they both reach the conclusion that Roy really needs to go buy groceries — which is obviously something he’s thought before though never acted on — and that there’s no way Edward can _spend all day with no fucking food._

They eat at a small diner close to the house. Edward makes a fuss over Roy’s health the entire way, and in a few moments the raven-haired does consider smacking him on the head. The meals are better than expected, and Roy is feeling considerably better after gaining some nutrients.

However, now, without the food to distract him from the issue in hands, Ed holds his full attention. They leave the restaurant and, as the blonde turns towards home, Roy comes to a halt. What is inside that brick-walled box that has always seemed so appealing?

”Maybe we should walk a bit.” He suggests.

”We can walk on the way back to your house.”

”Not exactly the kind of ‘walk’ I’m aiming for.”

Edward rolls his eyes, but there’s a gleam to his eyes that contradicts his behavior. “And what you’re aiming for then, old man? Walking around with really no place to go?”

Roy smiles.

”That’s pretty much it.”

He touches Edward’s shoulder slightly, just for convincing effects, of course. Then, they walk around with really no place to go.

The skies are grey and the trees have no leaves. There’s a breeze that is not strong enough to dishevel their hair and a cold that is chill enough to make them button up coats. It’s a plain, ugly day; and that’s quite alright, even if it makes the atmosphere around them more unpleasant. Ed kicks a small rock that was innocently resting on the sidewalk and it slides all the way to the street.

Roy knows they can work together. Their whole relationship was based on mutualism, relying for personal gain; a stumbling push-and-pull that steadied them towards their own goals. Mutualistic, yes, and they definitely don’t need one another to keep going, though Roy can admit it makes things easier. Simpler. Nicer. Survivable. There are times when he considers asking Edward what he thinks about them as a duo, but he’s too afraid his opinions are unrequited. Maybe all he’s ever done to Ed was stand in his way.

Edward’s knuckles brush against his once. Twice. Thrice. Roy brushes back.

They keep this until the blonde gets fed up and intertwines their fingers.

Roy can feel his heart thumping, so hard it seems like it will burst out from underneath his ribcage and slide to the sidewalk, leaving a gory mess over his chest. Edward’s hand is a bit sweaty and Roy’s sure his is too and the heat radiating from the tip of his fingers in expanding like a supernova. He’s torn between shaking in euphoria and staying very quiet to enjoy the moment. When he looks at Edward, the blond has a small upwards curve to his lips.

”So,” Ed says, “wanna hear about Creta?”

Roy listens attentively to the other and is surprised by the lack of alchemy in his stories. Instead, he learns about the weird house structures they have there, the museums, the people. Ed always goes back to the language and how much he loved o learn it and how good it sounds in songs. It seems he touches Roy for the sake of touching and leans against his arm for the sake of leaning and Roy is smiling for the sake of smiling and because it’s _Ed_. Here for him. Here _with_ him.

He asks Ed about Cretan food and they have walked so much already. The way back home is forgotten in the distance and Roy feels like he doesn’t need to remember it anymore. The streets are nothing but nameless paths for the two of them. Edward excitedly explains the political organization of the neighboring country and Roy wants to pull him against his chest and _laugh_. Not because the man is struggling to translate the names of the government positions, but because he is _happy_ , utterly happy — because the smile on the blond’s lips announces that _Edward is happy too_.

The first drop hits them and they barely notice. And comes a second, a third, a fourth, and they only realize they should find shelter when Ed shivers a little from the cold.

Roy does laugh then. It’s raining, they are two dorks running and it’s too late in the afternoon for them to find an open store. Edward laughs too, hair darkening from humidity and cheeks pink from the cold. It’s perfect, really, and the only thing that ruins it is Roy coughing his soul out of his body.

Edward holds him up, just like he did in the morning. Just like does figuratively on a daily basis. He has to spit the petals away, and he is so afraid Ed will be sad that they are in a gutter now, being washed down the drains by the rain. The blond does not complain though, fingers tightening around Roy’s and grounding him more than the floor itself.

The rain is at full strength now, and black hair clings to his forehead and prickles his eyes. Roy spits once more and takes a deep breath.

”Maybe we should go back,” he says hoarsely.

”That’s what I wanted us to do before, you idiot.”

Ed’s hand cups his face, the man stands on his tip-toes and—

_breath in_

—kisses his cheek oh so close to his lips.

_breath out_

Roy jumps, not because he’s surprised with the act. No, his internal dilemma revolves around the fact that it was _not surprising at all_. It was so natural, like it was the result of Edward following the normal course of their lives.

”Roy, are you—“

But he’s already walking back home. His chest is warm like summer in the desert and the world is _spinning_. 

”Mustang...!”

Ed is trailing right behind him; Roy can hear him, one leg splashing more on one side than the other. Two steps for him is one step for Roy and he concentrates on this difference as if it could put some emotional distance between them.

”Shit, Roy, I’m sorry!“

_splash splash splash ___

”Slow the fuck down!”

_splashsplashsplash_

Fingers curl around his wrist and Roy is forced to halt. “Stop this already, you stupid drama queen!”

Roy stares into the two pools of gold, glaring at him with and dripping irritation.

”Can’t you go with it, for fuck’s sake?” Ed says indignantly, and then pulls Roy down by his lapels.

Roy doesn’t know how to breathe anymore. His chest is _in pain_ and if nobody holds him up he’ll fall. He’s dizzy, and maybe he’s bleeding somewhere, he is sure he’s bleeding actually because his blood pressure is dropping vertiginously. There’s adrenaline running through his veins and, _fuck_ , he’s never been so ready to fight before, and yet all he wants to do is to _go with it_.

It’s a kiss but it feels like a _punch_ and that makes so much sense because it’s Edward Elric.

Roy lets out a noise that strips him of what’s left of his dignity, and throws his arms around Ed’s shoulders to pull him closer. Edward goes compliantly, threading his fingers through wet black hair and making a soft sound of his own and Roy _dissolves_. His lips finally moving against Ed’s — _like it’s supposed to be_ — and that’s Ed’s tongue slipping into his mouth and curling around his. The raindrops drip from the edge of Edward’s nose onto his cheek and Roy hopes the water stuck on his lashes has fallen from the sky and not his eyes.

Ed lets go and Roy wants him back. “This is what we’re doing from now on, get it? We gonna go on fucking dates, then walk around like we have all the time in the world and I’ll _kiss you_ and when we go back to your place we’ll kiss some more.

”But I need you to stop freaking out, ‘cause— shit, Roy, I want this, ok? I want _you_ so fucking bad and you ain’t got no right to take yourself away from me, you bastard! Not when you want it as bad as I do!”

He raises his hands to Ed’s chin and carefully plucks it from where it’s glued to tanned skin. He holds it up within Edward’s sight, and takes a moment to appreciate golden eyes widening and the way he sucks in startled a breath.

Between his thumb and index finger, proudly stands a yellow rue.

”I love you.”

Edward smiles and they are kissing again, and again, and again...

The skies are grey, but Roy thinks they might as well be blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this :D

**Author's Note:**

> [info](https://aluinihi.carrd.co/)


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